Mr. Whitman and the boy turned around. When those green eyes under thick, dark eyelashes glanced at me, I knew at once who the strange boy was. Good heavens! Maybe Lesley ought to pinch me too.

“Ah, just the right moment,” said Mr. Whitman. “Raphael, these three girls are from your class. Cynthia Dale, Lesley Hay, and Gwyneth Shepherd. Meet Raphael Bertelin, girls. He’ll be joining your class on Monday.”

“Hi,” Lesley and I murmured, and Cynthia said, “Is this for real?”

Raphael grinned at us, hands casually in his pockets. He really did look very like Gideon, although he was a bit younger. His lips were fuller, and his skin was bronzed as if he was just back from a month in the Caribbean. I supposed the lucky people there in the south of France all looked bronzed.

“Why are you changing school in the middle of the school year?” asked Lesley. “Did you do something to get yourself thrown out of your old one?”

Raphael’s grin grew broader. “Depends how you look at it,” he said. “I’m really here because I was fed up to the teeth with school. But for some reason or other—”

“Raphael has moved here from France,” Mr. Whitman interrupted him. “Come along, Raphael, Mr. Gilles is waiting.”

“See you Monday,” said Raphael, and I had the feeling he was speaking exclusively to Lesley.

Cynthia waited until Mr. Whitman and Raphael were in the principal’s office, and then she raised both arms in the air and cried, “Thank you, God, thank you for answering my prayer!”

Lesley dug her elbow into my ribs. “You look as if a bus had just run over your foot.”

“Wait till I tell you who that is,” I whispered. “Then you’ll look the same.”

Every period of time is a sphinx that throws itself into the abyss as soon as its riddle has been solved.

HEINRICH HEINE

SEVEN

WHAT WITH MEETING Gideon’s little brother and my hasty conversation with Lesley afterward (she asked, “Are you sure?” ten times; I said, “Absolutely sure” ten times; and then we both said, “Crazy!” and “I don’t believe it!” and “Did you see his eyes?” about a hundred times), well, what with all that, I arrived at the waiting limousine several minutes after Charlotte today. Mr. Marley had been sent to pick us up again, and he seemed more nervous than ever. Xemerius was squatting on the car roof swishing his tail back and forth. Charlotte was already in the back of the limousine. She looked annoyed with me. “Where the hell have you been all this time?” she snapped. “One doesn’t keep a man like Giordano waiting. I don’t think you realize what a great honor it is to be taught by him.”

Mr. Marley, looking embarrassed, helped me into the car and closed the door.

“Anything wrong?” I had a nasty feeling that I’d missed out on something important, and Charlotte’s expression confirmed that idea.

When the car began to move, Xemerius slipped through the roof into the interior and flopped down on the seat opposite me. Like last time, Mr. Marley was sitting in front beside the driver.

“It would be nice if you could take more trouble today,” said Charlotte. “All this is terribly embarrassing for me, you know. After all, you’re my cousin.”

I laughed out loud. “Oh, come on, Charlotte! You don’t have to pretend with me! You just love to see me making a fool of myself!”

“That’s not true!” Charlotte shook her head. “Typical of you to think like that! You’re so childish, you see yourself at the center of everything. The rest of us just want to help you so that you won’t spoil everything because you aren’t fit for your task. Although maybe that possibility won’t come up again. I can imagine them calling the whole thing off.…”

“What makes you say so?”

Charlotte looked at me for a while in silence. Then she said, almost gleefully, “You’ll find out soon enough, I expect.”

“Has something happened?” I asked, but I was asking Xemerius, not Charlotte. I wasn’t stupid. “Did Mr. Marley say something before I got here?”

“Only cryptic stuff,” said Xemerius, as Charlotte compressed her lips and looked out of the window. “There was obviously some kind of incident this morning when whatsisname, your boyfriend, sparkly jewel thingy…” He scratched his eyebrows with the tip of his tail.

“Don’t make me worm it all out of you!”

Charlotte, who understandably thought I was talking to her, said, “If you hadn’t been late, then you’d know.”

“Diamond, that’s it,” said Xemerius. “Well, he went traveling in time and someone—how can I put this? Seems like someone hit him over the head.”

My stomach muscles contracted painfully. “What?”

“Don’t upset yourself,” said Xemerius. “He’ll live. Or so I gathered from what Ginger there was stammering. Oh, good heavens, you’re white as a sheet! Not going to throw up, are you? Pull yourself together!”

“I can’t,” I whispered. I really did feel terrible.

“You can’t what?” snapped Charlotte. “The first thing gene carriers learn is to put their own wishes last and do their best for the cause. While you are just the opposite.”

In my mind’s eye, I saw Gideon lying on the ground covered with blood. I was finding it difficult to breathe.

“Other people would do anything to be taught by Giordano, and you act as if we were setting out to torture you.”

“Oh, do shut up for once, Charlotte,” I said.

Charlotte turned back to the window. I began trembling.

Xemerius put one claw comfortingly on my knee. “Listen, I’ll find your boyfriend and report back, okay? But please don’t cry, or I’ll get upset and spew water all over this showy leather upholstery, and your cousin will think you’ve wet yourself!”

With a jerk, he disappeared through the roof of the car and flew away. It was a dreadful hour and a half before he finally came back. An hour and a half in which I imagined the most terrible things, feeling more dead than alive. It made matters no better that meanwhile we had arrived at the Temple, where the implacable Giordano was waiting for me. But I was in no fit state to take in what he was saying about colonial policy in the eighteenth century or to imitate Charlotte’s dance steps either. Suppose Gideon had been attacked by swordsmen again, and this time he hadn’t been able to defend himself? When I wasn’t seeing him lying on the ground covered with blood, I imagined him hooked up to thousands of tubes in intensive care, looking whiter than the sheets on his bed. Why wasn’t there anyone here to tell me how he was?

Then, at last, Xemerius came flying straight through the wall and into the Old Refectory.

“Well?” I asked, ignoring Giordano and Charlotte. They were in the middle of teaching me how to clap when you were applauding something in the eighteenth century. Not the way I did it, of course.

“You’re playing pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man, you stupid creature,” Giordano was saying. “That’s the way toddlers clap in the sandbox when they’re pleased—oh, what’s she looking at now? I am going right out of my mind.”

“Nothing to worry about, haystack girl,” said Xemerius, grinning cheerfully. “Something came down boing on your friend’s head, put him out of action for an hour or so, but his skull must be hard as diamond itself—he didn’t even get concussion. And the wound on his forehead makes him look kind of … er … oh, no, don’t go all pale again. I told you he’s all right.”

I took a deep breath. I felt dizzy with relief.

“That’s better,” said Xemerius. “No need to hyperventilate. Lover boy still has all his nice white teeth. And he’s cursing under his breath nonstop, which I guess is a good sign.”

Thank God. Thank God. Thank God.

In fact the person about to hyperventilate was Giordano. Go ahead, I thought, why don’t you? Suddenly his screeching didn’t bother me anymore. Far from it—it was very amusing to watch his complexion turning from dark pink to purple in between those crisscross lines of beard.

Mr. George arrived just in time to prevent the furious Puffylips from slapping my face.

“It was even worse today, if that’s possible.” Giordano sank down on a delicate little chair and mopped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief as purple as his present skin color. “She just stared ahead with glazed eyes all the time—if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was on drugs!”

“Giordano, please!” said Mr. George. “We have none of us had a particularly good day today—”

“How is … he doing?” asked Charlotte quietly, with a sideways glance at me.

“As you might expect in the circumstances,” replied Mr. George gravely.

Once again Charlotte cast me a brief, searching glance. I stared darkly back. Did it give her some kind of sick satisfaction to know something I didn’t know, although she thought it would be of burning interest to me?

“Oh, nonsense,” said Xemerius. “He’s doing fine, trust me, darling! He just ate an enormous veal schnitzel with French fries and green vegetables. Does that sound like as you might expect in the circumstances?”

Giordano was getting cross because no one was listening to him. “I just hope I won’t be held to blame!” he said shrilly, pushing his little chair aside. “I have worked with unacknowledged talents, I have worked with the truly great men of this world, but never, never in my life has anything like this come my way.”

“My dear Giordano, you know how much we esteem you here. And no one would have been more suitable to teach Gwyneth the…” Here Mr. George fell silent, because Giordano had pushed his lower lip forward in a sulky pout, throwing his head with its cement hairdo right back.

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he snapped. “That’s all I ask.”

“Very well,” said Mr. George, sighing. “I … yes, well, I’ll pass the message on. Coming, Gwyneth?”

I’d already taken off the hooped skirt and hung it up over the piano stool. “See you sometime,” I said to Giordano.

He was still pouting. “I am afraid there will be no avoiding that.”

ON THE WAY down to the old alchemical laboratory, which I knew almost by heart now, even blindfolded, Mr. George told me what had happened in the morning. He was a little surprised that Mr. Marley hadn’t passed the news on to me, and I didn’t go to the trouble of explaining.

They had sent Gideon back to the past by chronograph (Mr. George wasn’t telling me what year), to carry out a little errand (Mr. George didn’t say just what that was either), and two hours later, they’d found him unconscious in a corridor not far from the chronograph room. With a lacerated wound on his forehead, obviously made by something hard and heavy. Gideon couldn’t remember anything about it, but the attacker must have been lying in wait for him.